


We Were Meant to See This Through

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15419607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: “Well, what about you? You’ve done this before?” Keith asks. He braces himself for that inevitable feeling of jealousy. But Shiro just blushes.“I, uh… haven’t,” Shiro admits.





	We Were Meant to See This Through

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request I wrote on tumblr at the start of this month and now I've edited and posted here-- you know, now that season 7 spoilers have made this kinda AU-ish. The original request was for "they're going to have sex for the first time and Shiro admits that he's a virgin and Keith reassures him." 
> 
> This is all just an excuse for fluff, so.

“Have you ever done this before?” Shiro asks him just as Keith finishes shrugging out of his shirt and tugging the blanket up as he settles beside Shiro. 

From anyone else, the question would be condescending, Keith thinks, would make his hackles come up and wonder what it was he’d done wrong. But from Shiro, like in all things, it’s only earnest and quietly asked, his tone warm and gentle. 

Keith feels his cheeks turn pink and he pauses long enough that Shiro’s expression shifts from questioning to surprised. His smile is boyish, tilting up on one end as he says around a delighted laugh, “You have!” 

Keith turns even pinker and he suddenly wants to bury himself under the blanket, or against Shiro’s shoulder. He settles for the latter, pressing his nose against the line of Shiro’s clavicle, lips ghosting over a faded scar. He kicks his leg out, pushing his discarded socks and shirt out from under the blanket and off the bed sheets. 

“I mean, kind of?” Keith says. “Barely. Sure.” 

“At the garrison?” Shiro guesses and Keith nods. Shiro hums around a laugh. “I’m surprised! Maybe I shouldn’t be… I didn’t realize you were dating anybody then.” 

Keith rolls his eyes and runs his hand up Shiro’s remaining arm, the touch absent but centering. “I wasn’t,” he grumbles. “I did say ‘barely.’ It was just hand stuff.” 

Shiro hums and his hand lifts and curls at the base of Keith’s neck, fingers tangled up in his hair. It’s comforting, soothing. He sighs out and sinks against Shiro further, shifting so he can look up at him. 

Maybe this isn’t the best place to do this with Shiro, on a base still on their route back to Earth, but there’s something understandable in being here with Shiro, in a bed that’s far too cramped but perfect because Shiro is there with him. He could stay like this for hours, Keith thinks— just like this. 

“Do I know who?” Shiro asks, then he blushes a little. “You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not, though.”

Keith shrugs. He doesn’t particularly mind, after all— it wasn’t exactly the most amazing experience ever, but it was the first time he’d ever actually done something with another guy. “Uh,” he says, pausing, “… It was Jenkins.” 

“Jenkins!” Shiro answers, louder than he likely meant to, and then he’s laughing in barely contained wonder. “Wow, I had no idea.” 

Keith’s mouth threatens a smile and he props his chin up on his hand as he hovers over Shiro. Shiro’s fingers slide through his hair, petting absently and he’s smiling up at Keith, and it’s nice to not feel embarrassed about it, only endeared by Shiro’s reaction. They smile at each other, quiet for half a moment, before Keith remembers himself. 

“Anyway,” he says. “It was just the once.” This time, he does smile a little. “You actually almost interrupted us. You showed up at my dorm room with a book or something while he was there and we were about to… you know.” 

“What?” Shiro bursts out around a disbelieving laugh and then groans, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “That makes sense. He never did like me and I always wondered why.” 

Keith chuckles and shakes his head. “His loss. Who could dislike you?” 

“Plenty of people,” Shiro answers, his smile turning a touch self-deprecating. Keith ducks his head down and kisses him before it can fully manifest, touching Shiro’s cheek. Shiro sighs out into the kiss and presses closer, slow and gentle. 

When they part, Keith presses his forehead to Shiro’s. Shiro sighs, fingers brushing through Keith’s hair and then touching his cheek, thumb tracing the slope of Keith’s scar. Keith can actually feel his smile turn softer as he looks at Shiro. 

The past didn’t really matter— it never felt like this, just like this. Keith can’t pretend to be an expert by any means, but he’s always been one to follow his instincts, always been one to put in his all regardless of the situation. He shifts, skims his hand over Shiro’s skin and moves to straddle him, pressing down against him. He thrills a little when he feels Shiro’s breath hitch against his chest. 

“I’m not nervous, if that’s why you asked,” Keith tells him, blushing. He runs his hand down Shiro’s chest, feels the rise and fall of Shiro’s breath, the beat of his heart, the flex of his muscles. He rests his hand there on Shiro’s belly, fingers splayed. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, his voice soft, “I want it to be good for you, Keith.” 

Keith holds back the urge to say something overly sappy— how it could only ever be good because it’s Shiro, or something equally as embarrassing— and instead kisses the corner of Shiro’s mouth, feels the curve of his smile against his lips. 

“Well, what about you? You’ve done this before?” Keith asks, more rhetorical than anything else, more to prompt the reason for Shiro’s asking. He braces himself, though, for that small feeling of jealousy that always sparks low in the back of his mind whenever he thinks of Shiro with someone else. 

But Shiro pauses, and then gets flustered, his entire face turns red— even up to his ears. And how strange it’s always been to Keith to see Shiro flustered, even if he privately thinks it suits him. He watches the blush trail down his neck and flush across his chest. 

“I, uh… haven’t,” Shiro admits. 

Keith sits up, blinking down at him. “What? Really?” 

Shiro laughs, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know. I just… There was never any time, I guess?” 

“Oh, come on,” Keith says and Shiro laughs, reaches his hand out and runs it up the line of Keith’s side, tracing over his hip, up along his ribs. Shiro’s eyes linger on him, tracing along his shoulders, over his chest. Keith drops his hand down to anchor on Shiro’s chest. 

“I’m serious,” Shiro says, and his tone’s shifted, looking at Keith straddling him. Keith can see the way his eyes change, how his flush suddenly means something different. “I just… was focused elsewhere.” 

Keith considers this and then drops his hands down to his belt buckle, squirming out of his pants, wriggling in Shiro’s lap. “I didn’t— I mean— _Shiro_ ,” he mutters out, “You should have said something sooner.” 

“Would you have gotten me rose petals if you’d known?” Shiro asks, and laughs at Keith’s expression. 

“There are no roses on this moon,” Keith says, and isn’t sure if it’s a joke or not. 

Shiro’s smile is crooked and unbearably sweet. “Candles, then.” 

Keith rolls his eyes and rolls off Shiro so he can flap his legs around and kick his pants off his legs. Shiro watches, laughing again, his eyes bright. 

“I don’t know,” Keith says, scooting back onto a more secured spot on the bed and reaching for Shiro’s pants. “I’d have— I don’t know. I mean… I’m glad you told me.” He looks up at Shiro quickly, worried suddenly that Shiro would be misinterpreting his reaction. But Shiro’s smiling at him and of course he understands Keith, almost better than Keith understands himself at times. Keith sighs and scratches the back of his neck, ruffling up his hair. “I guess I’d… I don’t know. I want it to be good for you, Shiro.” 

Shiro curls his fingers gently around Keith’s wrist and tugs. Keith goes willingly and lets Shiro lean up and catch his mouth with his, kissing him gently. It’s slow and worshipping, Shiro’s teeth tugging at Keith’s bottom lip and then deepening the kiss, hand cradling Keith’s jaw. 

“I’m here with you,” Shiro tells him, voice warm, “It’s already perfect.” 

It’s a direct echo to Keith’s thoughts earlier, only plainly expressed— because of course for Shiro it’s easy to say something like this, and to mean it, and to smile at him afterwards like Keith’s already made his entire night. Keith smiles back, helplessly, his heart twisting up in his chest. 

“So I’m… I’m your first, then,” Keith says, with no small sense of wonder— it runs counter to everything Shiro presents himself as. Not that this type of discussion ever came up between them, really, but in all ways Shiro is confident, assured, understanding. 

“And my only?” Shiro guesses and then laughs, loud and bright. “Okay, that’s way too sappy, huh?” 

And that’s the Shiro Keith really knows— not always so confident, but vulnerable, quick to reassure but needing that reassurance himself, sprawled out here with him and looking up at him with that absolute trust, that absolute understanding. This is Shiro. This is the Shiro that Keith’s always been helplessly in love with. 

Instead of saying anything— he knows the indulgent, disbelieving smile he throws Shiro’s way will be answer enough for him, can see it mirrored in Shiro’s smile— Keith lifts his hands and curls them around the waistband of Shiro’s pants and tugs them down with more flourish and grace than he did with his own pants. Shiro lifts his hips and sighs out when Keith tosses his clothes aside and runs his hands up from ankle to knee to hip, settling between Shiro’s legs and lying out, chest to chest, and kissing him. 

Keith takes a deep breath once they break the kiss, Shiro pressing light kisses against the line of his jaw— lingering, as he always does, at Keith’s scar— and Keith shifts his hand off Shiro’s hip and over his stomach, along the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

Keith hesitates, for half a second, long enough that Shiro kisses the spot just before his ear and murmurs, “Keith.” 

So Keith slips his hand beneath Shiro’s underwear and curls around his cock. Against his ear, Shiro’s breath hitches and it’s like liquid electricity shuddering down his spine. He holds Shiro’s cock in his hand, and then slides his hand a little, squeezing at the base. His impulse is to move fast, to get Shiro off, to feel Shiro shuddering and gasping beneath him. It inevitably summons up images of how Shiro does it, his hand around himself, and— no, of course Shiro would go slow, of course Shiro would be patient. 

He mimics that now, slides down Shiro’s cock with slow precision, taking his time, savoring the feel. His pace is slow, unhurried, and he feels Shiro shift against him, hears the soft sounds he makes— barely there, but deeply felt. He twists his hand at the head of Shiro’s cock and hears the breathless _mm_ that accompanies it. 

Shiro’s arm curls around Keith’s shoulders, anchoring against the back of his neck. He strokes over Shiro. 

“Lift your hips,” he tells him and when Shiro obeys, Keith uses his free hand to strip down his underwear, too. It takes a little maneuvering out of the way, a fumbling on the pace he’s set, but he manages it. 

He looks down, watches the way his hand slides over Shiro’s cock, the way Shiro’s hips jerk up to meet him in that slow, languid pace. He watches his muscles flex with his movements, the way his thighs shift. He’s unreasonably beautiful, even like this. Keith squeezes around him just to hear Shiro’s pleased sigh. 

“Good so far?” Keith asks him, quiet. 

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes, his hand trailing down Keith’s back. 

Keith feels as if he’s on fire wherever Shiro touches him, arches a little into that touch, and lets Shiro hook his thumb in his underwear and tug it down. He feels Shiro shift, watches Shiro glance down once he’s naked, and there’s a strange power in that, in seeing the way Shiro studies him, the way his expression shifts— and he can’t even be embarrassed by how it affects him, to have Shiro looking at him so closely. 

“Touch me,” Keith orders and Shiro obeys, his thumb sliding down the length of Keith’s cock before wrapping his hand around him. 

Keith tilts his head up, watches Shiro as Keith strokes over him, as he rocks his hips forward into Shiro’s hand in turn. Shiro’s eyes are shut for a moment, biting his lip, but when he opens his eyes he seeks Keith’s and holds his gaze. It’s always been a wonder to Keith, to be on the receiving end of Shiro’s undivided attention, and like this he’s at risk of being overwhelmed. 

He jerks forward, shifts, presses his forehead to Shiro’s and closes his eyes, breathing out his name as they stroke one another. It doesn’t take long at all— any other time, any other circumstance, and maybe he’d be embarrassed but it’s impossible to be embarrassed when Shiro’s kissing him, whispering his name between kisses, gasping out as he comes over Keith’s hand and it’s _Shiro_ here with him, Shiro that he gets to hold, to kiss like this, to know so deeply and completely. He kisses Shiro deeply, swallows Shiro’s gasps and pants, strokes him through his shuddering release, feels the curving pressure building in his belly as Shiro squeezes around him, twists his hand around the head of his cock. It doesn’t take long at all for him to follow, spilling into Shiro’s hand. 

“I should go get…” Shiro starts and Keith kisses him silent, groping around until he finds the corner of the blanket and uses it to wipe off his hand, then Shiro’s. Shiro wrinkles his nose and laughs, “Keith, gross.” 

Keith shrugs, thoroughly unembarrassed, and presses to Shiro, curling his arms around him. “Don’t go anywhere. Just stay here.” 

Shiro sighs out, arm wrapping around him in turn and cradling him there to him. He says, quiet, “I’m here.” 

Keith nods and nuzzles into Shiro’s shoulder. He bumps his chin against Shiro’s shoulder, then into his neck, then tilts his head up to kiss the underside of Shiro’s chin until Shiro tilts his head down and he can kiss him properly. 

“Was that okay?” Keith asks. His body feels electric still, buzzing with energy and love and Shiro. 

Shiro’s smile is gentle, boyish again— so much like he used to smile before everything, before everything that happened to him. 

“Yeah,” he answers, quiet and earnest, his hair sticking to his forehead. Keith untangles himself enough to lift one hand and brush it away, slides his fingers through the tuft and drags his nails lightly along his scalp. Shiro closes his eyes and hums. 

He feels overfull, so much he wants to say and overwhelmed at once with wanting to say it all. Instead, he settles for kissing him again and sighing when Shiro kisses him back. 

“We can go again in like…” Keith pauses, assessing. “Five minutes.” 

He waits and is rewarded with Shiro’s laugh and Keith laughs, too. Shiro shakes his head, his smile on the edge of goofy and sexed-out. 

“Sounds good, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
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>   * Long comments
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>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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